


you colour me clear

by mermaiddrunk



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: 1x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaiddrunk/pseuds/mermaiddrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cat Grant is very comfortable with denial and repression, until that pesky meteor shower changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

Kara is late. Again.

Cat contemplates inquiring after her whereabouts, but that would create the distinct impression that she cares, and seeming to care twice in one week is unacceptable. She waits five minutes, then ten, and as she walks towards Widget, she tells herself that she isn’t upset, and she certainly isn’t worried by her assistant’s recent erratic behaviour. Annoyed perhaps, but not worried.

Kara shows up just in time to save Cat the trouble of speaking to the IT gnome. She’s wearing a too-plaid, too-plum dress and a hideous grey cardigan that should be burned and then buried, just to be safe. Her hair smells of burnt rubber and there’s a barely noticeable grease stain under her chin. Cat glances at one of the monitors in the bullpen. The weakened props that threatened to collapse under the new mall construction site have been completely stabilized, thanks to Supergirl.

Kara holds out Cat’s coffee and smiles that sunny, guileless smile, as if she has not just spent the morning saving hundreds of people from certain death.

“Sorry, Miss Grant. The line at Noonan’s was really long for some reason.”

Cat takes the coffee from her with an indifferent “Hmm”, turns on her heels, and saunters back into her office.

Of course she knows that Kara is Supergirl. She’s known since that moment on the balcony.

Cat is tempted to fire her for deception and insubordination, and hiring a clone or whatever smoke and mirrors trick she used to pretend there were two of her. She comes close to firing her after the whole-milk incident and that ridiculous farce with the tears. It strikes her later that with Bizarro, and the double, and the crying pod-person, there’s a lot of wool that’s supposed to go over her eyes. She doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

But then, Cat remembers that break of desperation in Kara’s voice when she said, “I need you now, more than ever,” and those earnest, Disney princess eyes, and Cat thinks that if Kara fights so hard to keep her under-paid, lowly assistant position, then there must be some truth in her desire to stay.

Cat tells herself that she keeps Kara around because it would be hell to train some other witless schoolgirl to run errands and make photocopies. It makes sense, she concedes, that the most powerful woman in National City would have a superhero on call.

She doesn’t particularly like the compromise. It goes against every one of her instincts. But then again, so does being infatuated with her 25-year old assistant. 

And so, Cat watches her carefully, the way an artist might study the specific quality of light at the hour just before dusk, or the way a woman might watch her sleeping lover, tangled up in sheets and early morning sunlight. She watches the way Kara frowns and chews on the end of her pen as she scrolls through Cat’s diary and shuffles around appointments to make Cat’s life run smoothly, the way her face changes in a second, from focused and serious, to elated as she smiles at something James Olsen says when he leans over and points at something on her computer monitor.

Cat knows she’s romanticizing it, attributing poetry to every movement, music to every sentence. She knows it, but allows it anyway, because it’s been years, maybe even decades since she’s had a…  a flutter.

It embarrasses her at first, because god, Kara’s _young_. She might as well buy a red Corvette with a bumper sticker that says ‘Midlife Crisis’. The embarrassment annoys her because Cat doesn’t do self-doubt, or any of that tortured soul nonsense. It gnaws at her at two in the morning while she’s looking over SEO reports written by morons, during important press calls with politicians who claim to be making the city better while pushing for anti-alien laws, and always, without fail, in those few quiet seconds just before the elevator dings open and the daily bustle begins. It embarrasses, annoys, gnaws, until she concedes that everyone is allowed at least one dirty little secret (lord knows Lois Lane has her fair share).

And then, there’s Adam. Adam, who should have dated Kara and made this whole situation better, made it logical. If Kara Danvers had dated her son, then all of these feelings, could be construed as nurturing and, and maternal, and… the false justification of it all makes her cringe. Adam was an excuse to be _more_. On his own, he’s strong and he’s beautiful and he’s her _son,_ the incarnation of everything she’s ever done wrong and everything she’s ever done right. And she loves him without reason or measure. But with Kara, he was an excuse.

Her reaction to Kara after Adam is harsh; she won’t deny it. Kara is supposed to be different. She’s supposed to fix everything that Cat has broken. But, Kara disappoints her. She doesn’t do her job. She saves the city, saves the day, plays the hero. And Cat tells herself that she pushes her, _hurts_ her because she wants her to fight back, wants her to show a little backbone, to yell and say, “I did put other people first, I did want Adam to stay, I don’t want this to be strictly professional.” 

She doesn’t fight. In the end, Kara walks away. Just a girl, Cat thinks. Why did she ever expect to be saved by a girl?

Over the course of the following week, Cat becomes astoundingly successful in keeping their relationship “professional”.

She calls her Kiera, Karla, Klara and one morning, when she’s feeling particularly inspired, Linda. She doesn’t look at Kara when she barks out orders, doesn’t offer advice, doesn’t share her opinions. Cat gives Kara impossible tasks and watches her get through them all without breaking a sweat. Twice Cat forgets herself and says ‘thank you’.

The morning of the construction accident, Cat sends Kara out on a coffee run. The drink in question is nearly impossible to pronounce, let alone make. When Kara gets it wrong, she’ll demote her, Cat decides. She’ll send her to the front desk, or have her transferred to the Tribune offices – anything to rid herself of the constant flutter that seems to have taken residence somewhere behind her rib cage.

In the space of the twenty minutes it takes for Kara to complete her mission, Supergirl breaks up a riot that erupts outside of City Hall and prevents a minor collision on the freeway. She comes back with a button of that hideous grey cardigan undone and Cat’s fingers clench around her mouse, itching to correct it.

Kara puts the steaming coffee cup down and waits patiently. “Will that be all, Miss Grant?”

_Strictly professional._

“For now.” Cat waits until she’s left before she sips her coffee.

It’s perfect.

__________

Kara hums absently as she shovels the last of her Pad Thai into her mouth. It’s the first full meal she’s had all day, and her body rejoices. She may not be susceptible to pain or injury, but comfort food is definitely a thing.

It’s a good end to a long day, settled on her favourite chair, with the evening news on mute and Alex on the sofa across from her, looking as content as Kara feels. 

It’s easy, on nights like these, to forget about what happened with the Black Mercy, or to pretend to forget. It’s even easier during the day, when the sun is bright and yellow and makes her feel warm and strong, or when Winn shows her some ridiculous YouTube clip just to make her laugh, or James winks at her in that way than makes her heart beat just a little bit faster. It’s easy when she’s around the people who remind her of what home means.

There are the moments, when the sun is down, and Alex is gone, and the city is safe and asleep, that aren’t easy. Where Kara feels like every breath on this planet is strange and wrong, and her lungs, for no reason at all, struggle to take it all in.

She taught herself to sleep when she was thirteen. A deep, meditative state that made her feel normal, made her feel like she was like the rest of her family. Now she wishes she didn’t develop the habit.

She sees her mother when she sleeps, clearer than she’s been in years. Sometimes it’s Astra, or both of them at once, the way it sometimes is in dreams These are the nights that Kara wakes up sobbing. The narrative, the images flee within seconds of lucidity, but the smell of her mother’s hair when she wraps Kara up in a hug, the sound of her father’s voice as he helps her sculpt the perfect prism bird - they stay with her until the sun comes up, and she feels strong again.

“You know that speed-eating is one of your more attractive powers.” Alex wrinkles her nose, and watches Kara with amusement.

Kara’s retort is muffled by her stuffed cheeks and she uses her socked foot to point to Alex’s half-eaten fried rice on the table between them. “You gonna finish that?”

Alex shakes her head and pushes the carton forward, earning a victory grin from Kara.

“Oh, hey. I called your phone today. Winn picked up.” Alex takes a sip of her wine and Kara stops, noodles dangling precariously from the ends of her chopsticks.

“Everything okay?”

“DEO stuff. We handled it.”

She nods and chews. “Sorry. I forgot it at the office. Between that stupid protest at City Hall and running errands for Cat, I feel like I’ve barely touched the ground.”

Alex leans forward and refills her glass. “He mentioned something about a latte run?”

“It was more like a triathlon. Noonan’s was out of organic almond milk, and the only other place that steam-treats their almonds is in Central City, but I couldn’t exactly give Miss Grant a Central City cup, so I had to transfer it into a Noonan’s one, and…” she trails off with a shrug.

 “She really should be paying you more.”

“I’m just glad I’ve still got a job.” Kara sets the empty food containers on the coffee table and draws her knees up to sit cross-legged on the chair. “Not that I’m not grateful that Hank covered for me, because I am. It’s just -”

Alex’s eyes narrow as she tilts her glass up to drink. “Was she meaner than usual? Because while I can’t technically arrest her for being mean, I can-”

“No, no.” Kara says quickly. “No arresting. She wasn’t mean, just sort of distant.”

“Which is better than when she suspected your secret and had you under a microscope.”

“Yeah.” Kara sighs. “Better.” The sudden heaviness that settles in her stomach has less to do with the two portions of Thai she’s just inhaled and more to do with the memory of Cat, barely speaking to her, looking past her like she was nobody.

Alex leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s... it’s stupid.”

“Okay. Tell me anyway.”

Kara scrunches her face up as she considers her words. “When I said that CatCo isn’t just a job for me, it wasn’t just because of Winn and James. I like who I get to be there, Alex. I _like_ that I’m excellent at my job, and that Miss Grant values, _valued_ me.” She pauses and then in a softer voice, “Now, it’s beginning to feel like I’m losing that and I...”

“Hey,” Alex waits until Kara lifts her head to look at her, “if Cat Grant doesn’t see you as anything other than a subjugated minion,”

Kara snorts and rolls her eyes.

“-then that’s her loss. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to be her assistant forever. Another year or two and you might actually get to work for someone with a beating heart.” 

“She’s not that bad.” The defence comes automatically. It’s immediate and surprisingly fierce. “I know she pushes me, not just as Supergirl, but as Kara. And she’s tough, and sometimes impossible and stubborn.” She’s smiling now, thinking of Cat with her hands on her hips, in the middle of her office, dictating a string of commands and stopping in the middle of a sentence to tell Kara to make sure she stays well-hydrated and to wear something warmer than that awful cardigan for God’s sake, because Donald in editing is already down with the virus that’s going around and she doesn’t want to have to fire anyone else for their faulty immune system.

“She’s smart,” Kara continues wistfully, “and dedicated, and she truly believes in what she’s doing, and in her own way, she’s making the world a better place.”

“I think you might be overselling her better qualities.” Alex says it lightly, but she’s watching Kara closely, with a frown that Kara doesn’t seem to notice.

“I just can’t help feeling like I let her down, or disappointed her somehow. With Adam and, and not being here when-”

“Okay, you know none of that is your fault. You had no control over what happened while you were under that thing.” Alex avoids saying its name like it’s a dirty word. “And Adam…” She sighs. “Look Kara, you’ll find a way to balance it all.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I know you. And you’re new at this duel identity thing. Your cousin’s been doing this for years, and from what you’ve told me, he’s still figuring it out. It’s not always perfect.”

“He’s got Lois,” Kara says, as if this makes up for everything.

 “And you’ll have someone who gets the craziness of your life, someone who fits into it. Someone-”

“Attainable?”

Alex laughs. “Yeah.” Kara smiles back at her.

“Although,” Alex drops her voice as though she’s about to share a state secret, “From the way James looks at you, unattainable isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“James?”

Alex raises her eyebrows. “Pulitzer-award winning photographer?  Hot, smart, thinks you personally hang the sun every morning.”

“James!” Kara laughs awkwardly. “James who has a girlfriend. A girlfriend whom I like, by the way.”

Alex tilts her head and looks at Kara with suspicion. “But you weren’t talking about him.”

“What? Yes, yes I was.”

“No, no you were talking about someone unattainable. It can’t be Winn, because he’s, well… Winn.”

Kara winces.

“And we’ve ruled out James.”

“Let’s not rule out James.”

“It’s not Adam because you ended things there,” she continues as if Kara hadn’t spoken. “But it must be someone you know, someone you’re around, who for some reason or other is...” Alex’s face goes from amusement, to disbelief, to horror. “Kara. No. No, please tell me you don’t mean-”

Kara's only reply is an exaggerated grimace.

“She’s your boss! And she’s, she’s…” Alex flails and Kara covers her face with her hands.

“I know! I know! I thought it was just admiration and, and respect.” She lowers her hands and looks up with an expression so helpless, so pitiful, that Alex sighs and motions for Kara to sit next to her.

Instead of sitting, she starts pacing between the coffee table and the couch. “Then this last week, it’s just been awful, Alex. And not because she’s been mean, but because she won’t talk to me, or look at me and I _miss_ her. I mean, I see her every day, but I come home and I miss her. Is that weird? And of course I know it’s impossible. She’s, she’s… powerful and experienced and not gay-”

“Are you?” Alex interrupts in a small voice.

“I wasn’t the last time I checked,” Kara shrugs, “but there might be some weird, alien-Kinsey scale that I don’t know about. I can’t exactly call Clark up and ask if my recent attack of homoerotic feelings is a Kryptonian thing or a me thing. All I know is, this is the first time I’ve actually said it out loud and it feels right, but also crazy, because it’s Miss Grant. Cat Grant, Queen of All Media and I’m… I’m,” she finally flops down with a groan and rests her head on Alex’s shoulder, “... confused.”

Alex scoots closer and puts an arm around her. “Are you sure this isn’t just a mentor thing? Like you said, you respect her, you admire her, you-”

“Want to kiss her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.”

“Well,” Kara sits up at the sound of Alex’s problem-solving voice. “I guess you just wait until it blows over.” She watches Kara’s face carefully, and she continues in a softer voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Kara. Or god forbid, lose your job. And, I know you,” frowns as she struggles to find the word, “ _care_ about Cat, but I also know you’ve been through a lot recently, and I just think some of this might be projection. You’re latching onto something safe because you know you’ll never have to act on it. I don’t want you to fall for someone who can’t give you what you need in return.”

Kara’s heart clamours up to her throat, and stays there, making it difficult to swallow.

“Just give it time and everything will go back to normal,” Alex says, and Kara realises that she doesn’t necessarily want things to go back to normal, whatever that means.  She wants _more_. But the idea of more with Cat is terrifying and exhilarating and impossible. She can’t tell Alex that.

“And until then?”

“Until then, act cool. Which I know, might be hard for you.”

Kara whacks her on the arm. “I’m cool.”

“Sure you are, Supergirl.”

Alex leaves half an hour later, with a hug and a “Are you sure you’re okay?” and Kara employs the one lie, the only lie she’s ever been good at telling.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

That night, she dreams of Astra.


	2. ii.

Cat is staring.

She knows she’s staring because Steve Lombard has been prattling on next to her for almost five-minutes, and she hasn’t heard a word he’s said. Not that she would have listened anyway, but with Kara standing next to a melting ice sculpture of a jungle cat in mid-pounce, wearing that distractingly flimsy dress, it becomes that much easier to drown the buffoon out.

The Annual Tribune Ball, held at the National City Observatory and funded by CatCo, is one of the highlights of Cat’s social calendar. It’s a highlight for anyone in media, really - where the rich and famous rub shoulders with the pretty and vapid.

Half of CatCo is invited and the other half sell whatever is left of their souls to be someone’s plus one.

It was a week before the event, while Cat was reviewing progress reports, that she said, “I assume you have a dress.”

She hadn’t meant to bring it up. In fact, she had promised herself she wouldn’t, but Cat had never been good at keeping her own promises.

Kara, who had been waiting patiently, and staring out of the window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, snapped back to attention. “A dress?”

“Something that you haven’t pulled out of a bargain bin at Sears. That green thing you wore at the Supergirl cover launch was,” Cat scrunches up her face for a moment as if it pains her to concede, “acceptable. Something like that. Blue, perhaps.”

“For the ball? I thought it was invitation only.”

“It is. I’m inviting you.”

“Oh.” It was a breathless little  _oh_. Cat had almost smiled.

“You’ll come as my assistant, of course.” She’d dared to look up then, only for a second, just long enough to see that little line between Kara’s eyebrows deepen.

“Of course.”

“Consider it overtime. I’ll not have a repeat of last year when I was unwittingly lured into a conversation between Dirk Armstrong’s floozy-of-the-week and his ex-wife. You know the guest list better than I do. You’ll prove useful.”

She needed someone to save her from the plethora of inane conversation that would, no doubt, bore her to death. Who better than her super assistant?

The fact that Olsen had an invitation, and Lucy Lane was in Metropolis for the month had no bearing on her decision to invite Kara. Absolutely none.

She’s vindicated when Kara proves to be an exceptional buffer. Cat introduces her as “my assistant” and no-one blinks. Kara hovers from a convenient distance and, whenever Cat is bored with a particular conversation, she feigns a cough and Kara gently closes her fingers around Cat’s upper arm (an improvisation on Kara’s part that Cat has not contested) and murmurs, “Pardon me, Miss Grant, but the Mayor would like to discuss his upcoming piece in the magazine.” Cat smiles graciously and excuses herself as though she’d rather stay and listen to their insipid blather.

Her cheeks hurt from fake-smiling while exchanging fake-pleasantries with NCBC’s network head, whose sweaty hand gripped hers for a little too long.

She shudders dramatically. “I need a shower.”

“He did have a point,” Kara mumbles, walking just a pace behind, and Cat turns on her heel, finding herself closer than she’d intended.

“About the need for more male representation on primetime television? Really, Kiera-”

“Not about that,” Kara licks her lips in what Cat assumes is an unconscious desire to drive her crazy. “About your, um, dress.” Cat thinks back to the subtly lewd comment made by Tom Scott and raises an eyebrow. “I just mean,” Kara continues and adjusts her glasses, “You look really pretty tonight, Miss Grant.”

Cat’s mouth threatens to betray her with a genuine smile, and so she purses it instead. “Hmm. The combination of Valentino and excellent bone structure.” She allows herself a lingering assessment of Kara’s figure. “I see you took my advice and wore blue.”

It’s a cerulean frost, more reminiscent of Kara’s irises than the primary glare of Supergirl’s outfit.

Kara glances down as if just noticing the colour. “My sister picked it out.”

“I see.” Cat takes a chance, and slides her index finger under the thin strap of Kara’s dress to stop it from falling down any further. “She’s certainly got better taste than you. It’s...” Cat tilts her head and takes a breath as she considers her words, “becoming.”

Kara’s smile is wide and uninhibited. “Was that a compliment, Miss Grant?”

“A point of fact.” Cat allows her knuckles to gently brush against the smooth slope of Kara’s shoulder before pulling away. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s something different in Kara’s voice, something lighter, almost playful. It’s a nice change from the solemn assistant that’s been milling around the office for the past few weeks – a product of Cat’s strictly professional rule, yes, but also something else.

There are moments when she catches Kara looking out of windows, as if searching the sky for something she knows she won’t find. Cat wonders if she’d rather be flying than running around fetching layouts. But there are other times, when she looks up to see Kara staring at  _her_ as though tracing the constellations she must know by heart, across the planes of Cat’s face. The girl will inevitably blush and trip over something, or fumble with whatever she’s holding, and sometimes, only sometimes, Cat dares to hope.

“You haven’t been at the champagne fountain, have you?”

Kara seems genuinely offended. “No. Besides, alcohol doesn’t affect me.” Her eyes go wide and Cat watches her grapple for a quick cover, “B-because of my high tolerance level.” She really should be a better liar by now.

“Well, I suggest you go get a drink anyway. You don’t have to be attached to my side all night.”

“I like being attached to your side.” Kara’s blush is stark against the pale of her dress. “I mean, I feel useful. Did  _you_  want something, Miss Grant?”

“Yes.” Cat whispers it, caught off-guard by Kara’s open, earnest expression. She blinks and shakes her head, extricating herself from the reverie. “I want to catch Governor Trent before he waddles back to the buffet table. He owes me a quote about the latest protests.”

“Do you want me to-”

“No, no.” Cat waves her hand dismissively. “Go… have fun.” She says it like it’s an unappealing concept. “I think your sweater-vest sidekick is signalling to you.”

The governor drones on, and Cat glances past him, her eyes landing on Kara, who is dancing between James Olsen and Whim, doing some ridiculous shoulder shake to a song that came out decades before any of them were born. Cat barely censors her frown as James twirls Kara out, making her laugh so hard that she stops dancing for a moment, in favour of holding her stomach. Cat can hear her laugh from all the way across the room and finds herself accosted by an unwelcome, but now familiar tug of longing.

The first meteor hits during the big band’s rendition of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.

It feels like an earthquake at first. Everything trembles, glasses shatter, people scream. The large windows from the observatory light up with the glow of the fire, and someone yells, “It’s a bomb!”

More screaming, and Cat lowers her champagne glass. It must have exploded miles away, if all they felt were the aftershocks. Cat guesses the city centre.

Some guests make for the doors. More make for the windows, where fire can be seen licking up towards the sky, the flames luminescent and pale green. Shooting stars break through the clouds and it becomes apparent that it’s not a bomb at all.

Cat’s first thought is of Carter, with his paternal grandparents in Coast City for the weekend. He’s far enough away for her to not break into panic, but she runs for her purse anyway and pulls her phone out to fire off a quick text, letting him know that she’s okay and asking after his safety. 

Cat raises her head just in time to see Laurel and Hardy make for the stairs. She guesses they’re going up to the roof.

Kara, of course, is nowhere to be seen.

She follows them without thinking about it, tugging off her heels as she runs up the steps. She’s almost at the EXIT sign when there’s another tremor, smaller this time, and she pushes open the heavy door, just in time to see two chords from the suspension bridge in the distance snap and fling out.

“There,” Winn yells. “There, I see her!”

James is at the balcony railing, craning his neck out as if to will himself closer. “She needs to get down. If that green glow is what I think it is, her powers are already weakened.”

Cat runs up to the edge and elbows him aside. Sure enough, she sees Supergirl, holding up the bridge, to allow the last of the cars to cross safely. She’s a red and blue smudge against a black sky.  “Why would it affect her powers? Supergirl is immune to fire.”

Winn turns to her with panic and confusion. “Miss--Miss Grant?! What are you? You’re here.”

“You shouldn’t be up here, Miss Grant. It’s not safe.” James Olsen’s eyes flicker between Cat and the bridge in the distance.

“Why are her powers weakened?”

James sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “Cat, you can’t be here. This is-”

“What? Secret superhero business? You may have your little club, Mr. Olsen, but I have as much right to be on this roof as you do. Now tell me, is Kara in danger, or isn’t she?”

“You know?!” Their voices raise in unison.

“Of course I know.” She rolls her eyes at them, annoyed at their dual incompetence.

The sound of fire engines and sirens fill the air. Below, guests are being escorted from the hall, some talking frantically into their cell phones, others texting. Some are taking pictures of the bridge and the green glow that surrounds it.

Surprisingly, it’s the hobbit that speaks. “You may have figured out her identity, but her secrets aren’t ours to tell.” He swallows and adds, “Miss Grant.”

“If Supergirl is in trouble,” Cat all but growls at him, “then-”

5

“You’re worried you’ll have to hire a new puppy to roll over and play fetch?” James crosses his arms over his chest, as if protecting Kara from some invisible threat, as if she needs protecting from Cat. “There are people out there who are working on getting her safe, working on getting the city safe. I suggest you go home, Miss Grant. There’s nothing more for you to do here.”

“How dare you dismiss me?” Cat is a second away from ripping him apart with the most vitriolic speech she can muster, when Winn points up.

“Hey, hey, she’s doing it!”

Cat’s head whips back to the bridge. Supergirl holds up the arch as one more pair of lights struggles across.  “Come on, Kara,” she whispers fiercely.

The last car makes it across just before Supergirl lets go, leaving half of the bridge dangling precariously over the water. They exhale a collective sigh and Winn let’s out a little whoop.  

“She’s okay! She’s-”

_Falling._

Fear clutches at Cat as the blur in the sky spirals further and further down, until it hits the river with a splash that can be seen from all those miles away.

Cat’s heart mimics the fall and she brings her hand up to stifle her gasp.

Time stops.

It’s a cliché that she’d never use in any of her writing, but, for a moment, everything freezes and she’s stuck, unable to think, to move, to breathe. 

The boys stand at the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing, white-knuckled and silent, as the symphony of sirens wails through the night.

The water is still. Kara has fallen and the water is still.  Helicopters circle the area where she plunged into the river.

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Cat’s anger is loud and hot, and pulls them out of their stupor. “Where are the divers? What is the  _point_  of having rescue workers? Has this city forgotten how to operate without her?”

“They’re scattered; there’s too much.” James’ voice is thick with emotion.

“The city is on fire.” Winn’s teary gaze is still focused on the bridge. “And Supergirl is...”

“Sentimentality is not going to pull her out of that water.” Cat takes a steadying breath. She needs her heart to stop pounding as though it’s going to burst from her chest. She needs facts, and logic. She doesn’t want to look at that cold, black pool and imagine Kara sinking to its depths. She needs to make sense of it. “Can she breathe under there? How exactly does this green fire affect her?”

“It’s not the fire that caused her to fall,” James says softly, as if talking to himself. His finger idly circles the watch on his wrist. “It’s the rocks.”

“We shouldn’t,” Winn begins. “Kara wouldn’t want us to tell.” His voice breaks and Cat clenches her jaw. Stupid, misplaced loyalty. She begins to understand why Kara keeps them around.

“We need to get down there.” James pushes off the rail and stands to his full height.

“The roads will be closed.” Cat wishes she didn’t sound so affected. “The Catcopter may be an option, if we knew where-”

 They start when his phone rings – strains from Lakmé that sound jarring and morbid.

He turns his back to answer. “Alex?”

Cat watches him closely, the way the lines on his forehead smooth, the way he exhales and closes his eyes for a moment, as if in prayer.

“They’ve got her.” He says it and Cat feels like she’s being stitched back together without knowing she was ever torn apart.

Winn is the epitome of relief. Everything Cat feels, is made manifest on his face. “Is she-”  

“She swam.” James shoves his phone back into his pocket and stares out onto the river. “They found her near the harbour. She’s with the D-” his gaze flickers towards Cat. “She’s safe.”

“Take me to her.”

James looks poised to protest and Cat steps towards him, tiny without her heels, in her strapless couture dress and wind-ruffled hair.

“If you value your job, if you value your livelihood in this city, then you _will_ take me to her.”

______

She’s on a gurney – surrounded by black vans, unmarked and undoubtedly belonging to some covert government organisation, that would vanish into thin air were anyone to speak its name out loud. Hunched over, with a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of warm tea between her fingers, Kara has never looked so small. The steam rises up from her mug into the crisp night air, that smells of burning metal and flame. She sees the Hardy Boys first, and her smile is tired, but instantaneous.

They run up and engulf her in a hug, and Cat hangs back, suddenly unsure, suddenly envious of their easy affection.

She considers turning and walking away, leaving the super friends to their happy reunion. Now that the adrenaline, generated by fear has only just begun to subside, Cat feels a little foolish. She could call to check up on Kara, or wait a few hours and shine a giant ‘S’ in the sky. She could wait until Monday to see if her assistant will show, latte in hand.

But, in the end, it’s not enough to just see Kara, all wrung out like a wet puppy. She’s not substantial enough yet.  And so, Cat waits and watches, until the young woman beside Kara notices her. The woman stiffens and reaches for something on her hip and for a wild moment, Cat thinks it might be a gun. But, it’s only her radio, which she detaches, but doesn’t use.

This would be the sister.

It’s curious, Cat muses, how someone so powerful and so strong, has so many people who would die to protect her. And that’s not because of Supergirl. That’s all Kara.

The young woman in black leans over and says something, and Kara glances up, past James who couldn’t look more enamoured if he tried.

“Miss Grant?!” Kara’s voice is wisp-thin. “What are you doing here?” She glances at her sister, and Cat is surprised when James says, “It’s okay. She was with us.”

He looks at Cat like he understands, like he sees through her layers of indifference and disdain. There’s a camaraderie there that she’d rather not foster. Cat moves forward, walking, in her retrieved stilettos, as if she’s never been more comfortable in some dark back alley, between anonymous agency vans.

James and Winn step aside as Cat comes closer, and she finally gets a good look at Supergirl. She’s pale and shivering. Her cape hangs off of her, dark red and sodden. The jolt in Cat’s chest is instant and startling, and she exhales as if to rid herself of it.

“You fell.” She says it like an accusation, like it was something Kara could have prevented if she’d been a little less incompetent. “People are going to be looking in the papers tomorrow morning. I couldn’t very well go home without making sure that National City’s saviour was still breathing.”

“I –” Kara looks thrown for a moment. She opens her mouth as if she’s not quite sure what to say. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” 

Well. 

 _There’s_  a lie she’s good at telling. She’s clearly not fine. She’s broken out into a sweat, which, Cat suspects may be from a fever. There’s a scrape on her chin and over her eyebrow, and she appears seconds away from passing out. Cat wants to wrap her up in that blanket, press a kiss to her temple, and hide away from the world. It’s a strange impulse. Her feelings for Kara thus far have been borderline romantic, in her weaker moments, sexual, but never _tender_. It throws her off balance.

“Well.” Cat blinks. They’re standing around her, watching, waiting for her to leave, for her intrusion to end. “Good.”

“Thank you.” Kara says with a closed-mouthed smile that she seems to reserve for Cat. “For checking on me. I appreciate it.”

Another van pulls into the circle and a broad-shouldered man in heavy, black Kevlar slams the door. He has command here; Cat recognises that immediately. His gaze lands on Cat, and for the briefest moment, she imagines he recoils. “Supergirl, glad to see you’re all right.”

He walks up to them, and the smiles fades. Not one of her super friends, then. His presence in the group changes the dynamic. Older sister Danvers straightens up, Winn shrinks back, and Kara… Kara hardens.

“Thanks for your concern.” They all hear the lie.

“What was that green fire?” Cat sidesteps the others and speaks to Kara. “How did it affect your powers?” She’s got her journalist voice on. She’s there for the story. It’s a safe cover, one that allows her to hide behind her title. It’s better than the soft, comforting tone she’s tempted to use.

“That’s on a need to know basis.” The sister steps between them, effectively blocking Cat off.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Unfortunately, that’s need to know as well.” Alex Danvers pulls off intimidating well, for someone of her stature. Cat can appreciate the effort.

“And I  _need_  to know whether the city can expect Supergirl back in action any time soon, and moreover, whether I can expect my assistant back on Monday.”

There’s a moment of strained silence, and Cat takes particular satisfaction in the look of surprise on Alex’s face. “What does your assistant have to do with any of this?”

“I’m not playing this game anymore,” Cat states resolutely, and looks directly at Kara, who manages to appear even more pitiful than before.

“Will you be able to come into the office on Monday or do I have to make alternate arrangements?”

Kara pauses and turns to Alex who shakes her head just a fraction. There’s a push and pull there. They communicate silently, in the secret way of siblings, that Cat had spent her lonely childhood begrudging. She watches Alex deflate, and apparently concede, as Kara turns her attention back towards Cat.

“I’ll be there.”

Cat’s glare remains fixed. “Fine.”

The agent in charge, who still won’t make eye-contact with Cat, clears his throat. “Supergirl, the area around your home has been exposed. We don’t believe it safe for you to return until we can remove all traces of the substance found in the meteor rock.”

Kara leans forward and winces. “I can help.”

“You can barely move.” Alex tightens her grip on Kara’s shoulder. “It’s not safe for you to be out there.” She glances at Cat, the intruder. 

“She can stay with me,” Winn pipes up, and Cat restrains herself from rolling her eyes. “It's a few blocks away, and I don’t have much space, but-”

The commanding agent shakes his head. “The entire Bay area should be avoided just to be safe.”

“How long?” Kara’s waning. She looks like she’s about to pass out and Cat wants to occupy the space at her side, currently being monopolised by James Olsen. She wants to put her hand on Kara’s shoulder and feel the solid confirmation of her body. She can’t do any of these things, because Kara is her assistant, and these people are her family, and for the first time since the acknowledgement of the flutter, Cat realises that this  _more_  she craves isn't optional, and it isn't futile. It's necessary. 

“A day at most. Our agents are standing by to take you to our…” Another glance at Cat. “Facilities.”

Kara turns to her sister. “Alex, I just need to sleep this off. I don’t wanna be poked and prodded. What about your apartment?”

“It’s too close.” Alex sounds apologetic. “Besides, I’m going to be helping here. I don’t want to leave you alone like this. At least at the… at the base, you’ll have people to watch over you.”

“Kara shouldn’t be around strangers,” James says.

“We don’t have much choice, Mr. Olsen,” Agent In-Charge answers in his no-nonsense tone. “Unless you’re offering.”

James looks tortured, and this time, Cat does roll her eyes.  “What about Burmilla Hills?”

Agent Permanent Scowl finally acknowledges her. “What about it?”

“Has the area been affected by the fire?”

“Not to my knowledge. It’s too far across the river.”

“Then it’s decided.” Cat steps forward until she’s right in front of Kara, essentially ignoring everyone else. She waits for Kara’s unfocused blue eyes to meet hers.

“You’re coming home with me.”

 


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to a sudden and incomprehensible attack of The Feels, this story has gained an extra chapter. One more, after this one. Hope you enjoy.

She was found by the Coast Guard.

Half-conscious and spluttering, they had pulled her out of the dark water, only to be shooed away by the DEO, who had arrived within seconds. Alex was there, wrapping her up in a blanket, hugging her tightly, even though they were surrounded by half a dozen agents, who weren’t fully briefed on their background. It wasn’t Kryptonite, was the first thing Alex had told her, after they had laid her out at the back of one of the medical vans, and exposed her to a globe emitting pure UV light. It did enough to revive her, but not much to rejuvenate her cells to full strength. That would take time and sleep, was the only concrete advice given by the med unit.

And, while they weren’t radioactive, the rocks that were falling from the sky were made up of the same elements as Kryptonite: Sodium lithium boron silicate hydroxide. Kara had shivered, coughed and said, “Try saying that five times fast.”

Alex brushed Kara’s wet hair off of her forehead.  “It may not be Kryptonite, but it mimics the effects. You’re not safe out here while the city’s exposed.”

That is how she finds herself in Cat’s guest bathroom, standing under a warm shower, using almond and honey-butter soap that smells divine, and makes her sneeze. Kara leans against the tiles when her knees feel wobbly, and her muscles turn to jelly. She thinks of Alex, out there, with the DEO, helping to minimalise the damage, quarantining the areas affected by the strike, collecting all and any remaining meteors. She should be there, helping them. 

The meteor dust had infiltrated the water, and subsequently her lungs. She feels it humming under her skin, like microscopic insects, infecting and weakening. Her nerves cells are more vulnerable, her senses dulled. She doesn’t just feel human; she feels like a sick human.

She has a fuzzy memory walking into Cat’s home, held up by the agent who escorted them back, despite Cat’s protests. She remembers being led to a couch, feeling more exhausted than she had in years.

She must have zoned out for a bit, because the next thing she was aware of was the dip in the cushion, and Cat beside her, scooting closer.

“Kara, look at me.”

Cat’s voice was softer than she had ever heard it, and she had blinked, concentrating until Cat’s face came into focus. _You said my name_ , she had wanted to say, and was suddenly overcome with a surge of panic, because there she was, on Cat Grant’s expensive sofa, wearing her damp Supergirl suit, being called ‘Kara’.

There were a million apologies racing through her head. _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I might be a little bit in love with you. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry._

She noted the downward turn of Cat’s mouth, the way her forehead furrowed and defied those Botox facials. Her eyes were wide and intense, scanning Kara like she was problem to be fixed.

“What do you need?”

 _A hug._ It sounded silly, even in her mind and so she instead whispered, “I think…a shower, maybe. I’m - ” her breath had hitched when Cat had pressed a palm against her forehead. It was too hot, too close, but she wanted it there anyway.

“You’re burning up.” Cat stood, straightened her dress, and held out her hand. “Come on.”

In her most private, most secret fantasies, fantasies that she would never acknowledge during the harsh light of day, Kara sometimes imagined Cat peeling off her suit, skimming her fingers under the material at Kara’s shoulders, and sliding it down her arms, Cat’s face caught somewhere between awe and desire.

Reality had involved Cat yanking on it with a frustrated, “Where the hell is the zipper on this thing?” as Kara leaned against the sink on shaky legs. Cat eventually succeeded, as she did with everything, and managed to get Kara down to her underwear - standard black and boring. And, even under the haze of delirium, Kara was shy and embarrassed.

“You don’t have to - ” she began the same time Cat had said,

“You’re not going to fall over and crack my tiles, are you?”

Kara attempted a self-deprecating smile that ended up as more of a grimace. “I think I can handle a shower.” Her voice was weak, and Cat, who seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze up until that point, stopped and turned, her eyes bright with such intensity that Kara felt dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the noxious element in her blood.

“You’re going to be all right. Do you understand me?” 

It had seemed then, as though Cat was talking about more than just the meteor, as if she was talking about every loss, and every nightmare, and every memory, that logically, she’d have no knowledge of. At another time, Kara might have looked away, ducked her head to hide the quiet brimming of tears, but she held Cat’s stare and nodded firmly.

By the time she steps out of the shower, the water is cool, and her core temperature has decreased somewhat. Cat has left a robe, pyjamas, socks and toiletries. Her suit is nowhere to be seen.

Kara dresses slowly, revelling in the feeling of satin against her skin. The pyjamas smell new, and she wonders if Cat owns many pairs of women’s guest sleepwear.

The mirror has fogged over, and Kara stares at her glazed-over reflection. The steam slowly dissipates, and her features become clear – a young woman, with flushed cheeks, tangled wet hair, and dark circles under blue eyes. She watches the reflection curiously, then grins, scowls, and finally, sighs and sets her expression into neutral. She traces her fingertip down the centre of her eyebrows, to the very tip of her nose. She feels more naked without her glasses than she did standing in front of Cat in only her underwear.

Kara closes her eyes, and through the walls, she hears Cat’s voice. It isn’t as clear, or as loud as it might have been if she had her full strength, but Cat’s yelling; that’s certain.

She opts _not_ to pull on the pair of Superman socks that Cat had left – presumably as a joke, or more likely, a reminder that Kara’s secret is not so secret – and wanders out. The floors are hardwood, covered by a textured carpet, thick and soft between her toes.

Kara passes a series of closed doors – one painted blue, with C-A-R-T-E-R printed on it, in red foam letters. Another, that she assumes to be the master bedroom. Kara finds herself wondering what the inside of Cat’s room looks like. Were the colours bold, or muted? Was her bed soft, or did she prefer a firmer mattress? How many pillows did she sleep with? Did she make-up her bed herself, or did she allow the house-keeper to do it?

These are the trivial questions that preoccupy her, as Kara wanders down the hallway, her feet making no sound against the plush carpet.

She comes to a complete stop in front of a framed photograph, perfectly positioned between two black and white landscape prints of National City.

Cat is younger in the picture, on a park swing with a toddler on her lap. Carter looks to be two, maybe three. He’s looking up, his curly head tilted all the way back, as he watches his mother – so focused and still. But it’s the expression on Cat’s face that has Kara frozen. She’s smiling down him – a wide, open smile that shows her teeth and makes the corners of her eyes crinkle up. Kara struggles to recall ever seeing that smile in person. It’s honest and vulnerable, and it makes Kara’s heart hurt.

It takes her this moment to truly grasp what it means to be _here_ , in Cat’s home, her fortress of solitude.

She knows it was Cat’s idea to bring her back here. She remembers the look of determination on Cat’s face when she announced she was taking Kara home. There were protests after that – by Hank, by Alex. They blur into noise, and in the end, Cat got her way. She always did.

Kara follows the increasingly annoyed sound of Cat’s voice, all the way to her home office.

The setup is similar to the office at CatCo. It has one couch instead of two, and no wall of giant screens. But, there’s a bar counter, and a dish filled with M&Ms, and Cat, pacing around a low coffee table, phone in one hand and a glass of something amber in the other. Kara’s smile is quick. There’s comfort in the familiar.

“Oh, cry me a river, _Derek_. You’ll have another anniversary next year. This is why I pay you. Now get down there and get me a story. I want to know where this stuff is from, its properties, whether we can expect something of this proportion again. People are hurt. This is unacceptable. Take Amanda with you. I want decent pictures this time.”

Kara stands in the doorway, a little uncomfortable without the invisibility of her glasses, without the safety of her suit. Glasses for assistant Kara, the suit for the superhero. Without either, Kara is somewhere in-between. The stitch in the middle that sews the two together.

Cat, for her part, looks far more comfortable than Kara feels.  She’s removed her dress and changed into simple slacks and a t-shirt. Her shoes are off, and she paces in bare feet, swirling the drink in her hand - the queen in her castle.

Kara clears her throat and gives a weak little wave when Cat finally notices her. She stops talking and raises her eyebrows, appraising Kara silently. Sometimes Kara envies Hank’s mind-reading abilities.

“Enough whining. I expect a two-page copy along with pictures in the morning.” Cat disconnects without waiting for an answer and tosses her phone on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice is immediately softer and Kara’s stomach flips. She’s nervous.

“Fine.” Her response is automatic, and she attempts a smile. “I think the water helped. Things are starting to feel less…woozy.”

“Woozy.” Cat’s lips flicker up for just a second, before she gestures towards Kara. “I can’t tell if that enfeebled look is a product of your fever or just you, so I’ll take your word for it.”

“I...” Kara starts, and stops when she realises that she has no idea how to navigate this situation. Does she wait for Cat to bring up the lie? Does she launch into an explanation? The night has taken a weird turn.

Cat drains her glass and sets it down on the glass table with a clank.

“Miss Grant - ”

“Kara.” It’s a sigh of admonishment. Two rounded sounds, exhaled on a breath. Kara’s heart thuds in her throat, in her stomach, in the space between her ears. “You’re standing there, wearing very expensive pyjamas, and smelling of my soap. I think you can manage my first name.”

“Cat.”

The look that Kara receives in reply is expectant, a little condescending. “Is there more to that sentence or are we just exchanging titles?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the fact that you’re Supergirl? I’d say that’s a promising beginning. How about the fact that you’ve spent months not only lying, but actively deceiving me, in order to maintain your dual identity? If you were feeling particularly loquacious, you might go as far as telling me _how_ you went about said deception. But I suppose you may not be quite up to it.”

She’s caustic, and sharp and Kara is left shredded. “If you knew, why haven’t you exposed me?”

Cat tilts her chin up. “I still might.”

There’s no punch in the threat, Kara senses it immediately. Under her skin, the toxins are moving. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Cat brings her hand to her chest, as if the idea is laughable. “Oh, Kiera.” And apparently they’re back to that. “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Cat walks towards her, and Kara fights the urge to back away. “I was, for the most part, embarrassed _for_ you, by your poor attempts to conceal your little secret.”

She’s dizzy again and helpless in the face of Cat’s derision.

 “I didn’t want to have to leave. I didn’t want you to send me away.” This is the simplest truth. How does she begin to explain, to have Cat understand? “I once told my sister that I – that I didn’t travel 2000 lightyears just to be an assistant. But maybe…” she shrugs. “Maybe I travelled all that way to be yours…your assistant.” She tries for a smile. “ _And_ Supergirl.”

Silence stretches out. Kara’s heart skitters. She can feel the drumming in her palms now. The change in Cat’s face is incremental, barely noticeable, but it’s there. Her expression changes from angry – and Kara would wager, hurt – to something like disbelief.

Kara’s first instinct is to go to her, to comfort despite the uncertainty of the situation. She doesn’t know if there are rules about comforting your boss in her own home. She does know that the rules have never quite applied to her and Cat, even at their most ‘professional’.

“You have no idea, do you?” Cat’s voice is quiet, reflective. _About what?_ Kara wants to ask, but instead, she steps forward, tentatively, and Cat shakes her head. “You are…so young.”

Something is happening here, in this space between them. It feels heavy and charged, filled up with a million and one things that neither are saying.

“Miss Grant…” She sighs. “ _Cat.”_

Kara needs her to understand why lying felt not only right, but necessary. She needs her to understand, even though the room has started spinning and her knees are all wobbly. “The thought of losing what I have at CatCo, losing you...”

“So, you lied.”

Kara nods and takes another step towards Cat, closing all pretence of distance between them. “I just… I want you to know…” she watches Cat swallow, as if she was nervous, which of course, is unfathomable. “I want you to know,” Kara repeats, “I’m… I’m going to pass out.”

And then she does.

______

Kara’s eyes flicker open, and she winces against the light. It’s a soft orange glow, but her eyes take a moment to adjust. She rolls over onto her back, still groggy and sleep-addled.

Memories come back to her in disjointed snapshots. Falling into water and… No, not water – falling onto carpet. A hand against her cheek, smacking hard enough to sting – an unfamiliar pain. Her name, being called over and over, pulling her out of that water… No, not water.

Kara remembers opening her eyes to a halo of golden hair and concerned green eyes.

Cat had helped her up, grumbled about her weight, stumbled through a door. And then, there were only dreams.

Movement, at the periphery of her vision, has Kara turning her head.

_Cat._

Kara watches her for a long time, feeling warm and safe under a soft duvet.

Cat sits in a comfy-looking armchair, in one corner of the room, near the door and next to a little table with a lamp. She’s got her feet up under her, and her tablet on her thighs as she flicks up against the screen. Every so often, she adjusts her glasses and sighs as she settles in further. 

Kara shifts. She remembers their conversation in Cat’s study, things said with the intensity of fever – a sort of delirious honesty. Instead of feeling embarrassed, Kara feels relief, she feels lighter.

She feels bolder.

“Should I be concerned about spontaneous combustion?”

Kara sits up on her elbow, feeling _caught_. “Excuse me?”

“Well, with the way you’re staring…” Cat looks up.

“Sorry.”

“How are you feeling? And don’t say “fine” because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“I think the fever’s finally worn off. No more passing out, I promise.” She crosses her heart in an exaggerated gesture.

“Yes, it was very Jane Eyre of you.”

“Should I be worried about ex-wives in the attic?”

Cat’s lips purse in a way that suggests she’s fighting off a smile, and she smothers a delicate yawn with the back of her hand.

“How long have I been asleep for?” Kara asks.

“A little over three hours.” Cat removes her glasses and watches her carefully. “I thought you were out for the count.”

“You didn’t have to stay.” She wonders if Cat would have sat up all night if she’d slept through it.

“Are you kicking me out of my own room?”

Even in the dim light, the room is as Kara pictured it. Heavy, textured fabrics. The drapes are flint, the duvet, plum. Kara wants to wrap herself up in those sumptuous colours, and sleep for an age. Instead, she sits up against the headboard.

“You should have put me in the guest room.”

Cat lays her tablet on the small table beside her, crosses her legs and sits back, openly staring at Kara. There’s something of a challenge in her blatant stare, and Kara’s heart begins a gallop.

“You’re awfully bossy for someone with a fever of 103 degrees. Besides, you weigh a ton. I wasn’t about to drag you to the end of the hall only to have you passing out in the middle of it.”

“I really do feel better.” The reassurance is as much for herself as it is Cat. She hates feeling helpless. Her body itches to be out there, doing something, helping, protecting. “All I need now is the sun.”

“Oh? You get your abilities from the sun?” Cat looks contemplative, and even now, Kara hesitates. There’s a difference between knowing she’s Supergirl, and knowing _how_ she’s Supergirl. She’d assumed from the second Cat had figured out the former, she’d be relentless until she understood it all. The thought of _all_ scares Kara. It scares her because of how much she wants to give it, how much she wants Cat to take that knowledge, and with it, all the pieces that make up Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers, Kiera the assistant, Supergirl.  

Kara nods and Cat leans forward, seemingly attune to Kara’s apprehension. “And those meteor rocks were…”

“Made up of the same compound as the radioactive pieces of my home planet. They mimicked the effects. Although Alex tells me it wasn’t actually Kryptonite.”

“ _Kryptonite?”_ Cat scoffs. “You’d think they’d come up with something more original.”

“Says the woman who dubbed me Supergirl.”

“It fits, doesn’t it? You’re,” Cat gestures towards her. “…super.”

“Not so much right now,” Kara mumbles, looking away from Cat.

“Why, because you don’t have your powers?”

She shrugs, wanting to drop it. She feels powerless enough without having to listen to Cat berate her for it.

“You’re not only super because you’re faster than a speeding bullet, Kara.” Cat sounds almost annoyed that she’s forced to say this. “Do you remember, your third week working for me, and we had that little power failure in the building? We had to use the generators?”

“I remember.”

“And, do you remember how they got all of the elevators working, except my private one, which needed a key code, and how we couldn’t reach the imbecilic technicians, because they were dealing with the ‘emergency’.” She uses air quotes for that last word, as if an entire media building losing its power wasn’t an emergency at all. 

“Yes?” Kara has no idea where she’s going with this, but she enjoys watching Cat talk. She’s missed this – just sitting in a room, and having Cat talk to her, sometimes at her. The way that Cat uses her hands, the way she pauses before certain words, emphasises others, the way she looks at Kara like there are a million things only she knows, that she might share with Kara if she so deigned.

“And then, sometime during that frantic day, you got me the number of the main engineer, the pudgy one, with the, the receding hairline.” She makes a face at the memory. “He had spent a week on the floor, and you were the only one to ask his name, and whether he knew where the water coolers were. By the end of it, you probably knew the name of his wife and all seven kids.”

“Four.” Kara concedes.

“You had his card, and his number, and got him down there, at 6pm on a Thursday, so that by the time I left, I could use my own elevator and be safe from the disgusting human microbes that infested the public variety.”

Kara smiles, if still a little confused. “It was a Friday.”

“And that,” Cat continues as if she wasn’t just interrupted, “is why you lasted another week, officially making you my longest surviving assistant. And _that_ is why you’re super. It’s not just about what you can _do_.” She blinks as if the notion were obvious and Kara is just too dense to catch on.

Kara’s smile is wobbly, her eyes bright. She wants to blame the fever, but it’s mostly disappeared, and she feels silly, getting so twisted up over Cat’s words, getting all bubbly and fluttery, but it feels like forever since she’s been _seen_ by Cat, let alone needed.

“Do you really mean that?”

Cat’s eyes narrow. “Am I known for saying things I don’t mean?”

“I suppose not.”

“Mmm.” Cat looks almost smug, as if convincing Kara was some sort of victory in itself. “Well,” she makes a show at looking at her watch.

She likes seeing Cat like this. Sleepy, relaxed, relatively unguarded. “You should get to bed,” Kara says, without thinking.

“You’re in my bed.”

Cat says it matter-of-factly, with no innuendo, or anything to suggest flirtation, and still, Kara’s mouth goes dry. Her first instinct is to leave, to thank Cat for allowing her this intrusion, and to stumble into the guest bedroom, which, she has no doubt, would be immaculately tidy and welcoming. But the thought of walking out of the room, away from Cat, is unexpectedly disappointing.

Kara swallows down her trepidation. Instead of getting out, she moves over, leaving enough space for another person, and, as if to make sure that Cat gets the hint, she throws back the sheets.

Cat stands, and walks out, and Kara thinks, _oh god, oh god,_ and also, _stupid, stupid,_ and a string of other thoughts that border on self-flagellation, until ten minutes later, when Cat returns in pyjamas, and a freshly scrubbed face that makes her look older and somehow realer. Kara thinks about how when she was ten, Jeeta Al-Zar brought her spectrum orb to training, and it was the prettiest thing that Kara had ever seen. She remembers the way the colours depicted every hue of the Kryptonian sunset, and ten-year old Kara thought she might die if she didn’t have one. She bets she’d see those colours if she looked at Cat for long enough.

Cat doesn’t say anything when she turns off the lights, when she slips into bed beside Kara. Kara can hear her own heart beating in loud, uneven thumps, and then she realises, that it isn’t her heart at all, but Cat’s.

Kara slides down, to stare up at the ceiling and Cat stays upright, back against the headboard. They’re the picture of a 1960s sitcom couple. The bed is big enough that Kara can almost spread out her arms without fear of ever touching Cat. She doesn’t try it.

“Who is Astra?”

The question is a green-glowing dagger through the heart – searing and unexpected.

“Why – ” Kara’s voice is faint, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Why do you want to know about Astra?”

“You called out for her in your sleep.”

“Oh.” For some silly reason, it feels like a violation that Cat should know this, that she had given it away without meaning to. She doesn’t want to talk about Astra.

“She’s… _Was_ my aunt.”

“Was she the woman you fought? The one on the news?”

Kara’s shame is the heaviest thing she’s ever had to hold up. “Yeah.”

“Did you kill her?” Cat never did beat around the bush.

 _I wanted to save her_ , Kara wants to scream. _I wanted to bring her back. I never wanted her to leave me. They always leave._ What she says is,

“No.”

The mattress dips. Cat moves closer. Close enough to touch. “Tell me.”

And so, she does.

She tells Cat about Krypton first. She tells her about Argo City during the Festival of Rao – the lights, the bright costumes, the way the air smelled of oleate flowers and caramelised sugar. She tells her about trips to Kandor, and stopping at the Jade Springs to watch water break upon the jewelled rocks. About how her father taught her to dance, and her mother taught her to fight. About staying up past her bedtime on nights that Astra came over, and how, when she was little, she’d always find a candied treat under her pillow after Astra had left.

She tells Cat about waking up in a space ship, and flying for the first time. She tells her about Eliza and Jeremiah, about Alex, about finding Astra and losing her. She speaks, and Cat listens. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t roll her eyes or make snarky comments. She just listens to the story of a girl, lost in space, who found a home amongst the stars.

Kara stops talking when she’s too exhausted to go on, when her throat feels scratchy and her eyes feel wet.

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispers, and she wonders if Cat has fallen asleep. “I didn’t mean to - ”

Cat slides down beside her, and even in the darkness, she can make out the dip of Cat’s nose, the bow of her mouth. “You still apologise too much.” Cat whispers. Her breath is warm and minty against Kara’s cheeks.

She wants to reach out and touch Cat – on her cheek, on her arm, her hair – anything to make this moment more real, to make it tangible, to prove it isn’t something she’s dreamed up in the heat of a fever.

“I guess that wasn’t quite the exposé you were hoping for.” Kara slowly brings her hand up, runs the very tip of her index finger over the exposed skin of Cat’s bicep. It’s a bit like touching a soap bubble, waiting for it to burst.

“It’ll do.” She wonders if she imagines the slight breathlessness in Cat’s voice.

Kara watches the slow progression of her finger down soft skin, all the way to Cat’s elbow. 

No words for longest time, only breath, and a restless heartbeat that Kara can no longer distinguish between.

“You should rest.” Cat says it quietly, as if she's just as afraid to fracture the dream. 

Kara lets her hand fall between them and her finger buzzes from the touch. She wonders if Cat feels it too. 

“Cat.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you stay?” The question is so much bigger than Kara can articulate.

Cat closes her eyes, opens them again. “Go to sleep, Kara.”

Kara smiles, feeling stronger that she has in hours. As if the sun has suddenly burst through the windows and settled under her skin.

“Goodnight, Miss Grant.”

Cat rolls over, and scoots a little way forward, leaving a warm, empty space in her wake. And then, under her breath, “Goodnight. _Supergirl_.”

 


	4. iv.

She wakes up with the sun.

The curtains have been opened wide enough for sunlight to come splashing in – warm and bright against the sheets.

Cat yawns, grumbles and turns over, the fragments of a dream still flitting around in her mind, slowly losing sharpness and meaning. She might have dreamt of flying, but she hasn’t had that dream since she was twelve, and the sun makes it all fade before she can be sure.

It occurs to her, sometime between grumbling and yawning, that there’s more room in her bed than there had been a few hours ago. She opens her eyes fully, to discover herself alone. The area beside her has been straightened, as if there was never anyone there at all, as if night had been as normal as any other.

Cat turns onto her back and scowls at the ceiling. Images come back in jigsaw pieces that she puts together with careful consideration.

Kara sick and burning up with fever. Kara in the bathroom, standing up on shaky legs. Kara in her underwear, blushing and shy. Kara smiling. Kara crying. Kara confessing every secret she’s ever kept hidden.

_Kara, Kara, Kara._

It’s infuriating how well she fits into this space, into this private space that Cat had etched out for herself, away from expectations and pressure.  

She thinks of Kara, in this bed beside her. She remembers waking up, just before dawn and seeing the girl asleep, curled in on herself, but facing Cat. Her face, relaxed and so unbelievably innocent. Not the face of a young woman who had witnessed the death of a planet or knew the burden of saviourhood.

Cat had wanted to reach out then, and do all of those silly things that lovers did – count her eyelashes, trace the little scar just above her brow, press her mouth to the hollow of Kara’s throat.

Except, they’re not lovers. They’re not even friends. Not really. Yet Cat admits (grudgingly, because she hates this kind of pointless self-reflection), that she needs Kara. She needs her in ways she can’t or _won’t_ articulate. Ways that scare her and exhilarate her.

Cat throws an arm over her face and sighs in annoyance. Sentimentality makes her itch. The little flutter has evolved into something loud and thumping and impossible to ignore.

Kara is entirely to blame.

The smell of coffee eventually lures her out of bed. She half-expects to find Kara standing outside her bedroom door, latte in hand. Instead, she walks all the way to the kitchen, only to find a cooling coffee mug and a post-it.

_Accident on freeway. Be back soon._ It’s followed by a scribbled-out smiley face and a hastily squiggled _K._

Cat throws the coffee down the sink and turns on the news.

There’s a pile up on the 602. Four cars and a bus. The road had apparently been damaged due to the meteor strike. It’s too close to the city centre for it to be completely safe, and Cat sinks into the couch and turns up the volume. The newscaster’s voice blurs to noise and her eyes focus on the image of Supergirl, lifting up burning chunks of metal, flying people off to safety as if she had not, only hours ago, been unconscious and feverish in Cat’s bed.

Ten more minutes of live-coverage and Cat walks out of the room.

She’s watched Supergirl in apparent danger before; she’s seen her do amazing feats, only to get knocked down. Of course, she always gets up again. Until last night. The memory of Kara falling paralyses Cat, and she’s filled with restless, nervous energy that stems from feeling powerless.

It was so much easier when Supergirl was just a symbol. An impenetrable hero. It was easier when Cat didn’t know what she looked like just before she fell asleep, or the sound of her voice choked up with tears.

It was easier when Supergirl’s impetuous selflessness filled Cat with awe and pride, rather than concern and worry.

Now, Cat wonders how anyone survives loving a superhero.

When Kara comes back almost two hours later, it’s barely ten. The day is new. The sun has given over to a grey morning that threatens rain – for this time of year, it’s an anomaly almost as strange as the meteor shower.

Cat promises herself she isn’t going to yell, or be mad, or even talk about it. She promises herself that she’ll wait for Kara to return, if only to make sure that she hasn’t been exposed to the meteor. Once she’s certain that Kara isn’t in any danger, she’ll go to the office. She needs to prep for Monday anyway. With any luck, Derek has proved mildly competent and managed to write something usable. Kara can stay, or go. Whatever. Cat tell herself she doesn’t really care either way. The more space between them, the better.

When Kara comes flying onto the balcony, Cat yells.

Kara is clearly unprepared for the assault, as the bright “Hey!” dies on her lips.

Cat says “Thank god, I was so worried,” which comes out as, “What the hell were you thinking?”

Kara walks through the glass balcony doors, and the cape billows out behind her. It’s unfair how good hero looks on her. Even so, she seems more drained that usual, as if the effort of holding up a fifteen-ton bus has actually exhausted her. The scrape on her chin hasn’t quite disappeared either.

“I left a note,” Kara begins.

“Six words and an emoji, yes, very comprehensive.”

“There wasn’t really time to write an essay.” She employs that cool, placid demeanour that seems to come with the symbol on her chest. Cat wants her stuttering assistant back, and so she pushes harder.

“Going out there in your state, was not only stupid; it was irresponsible.”

“People needed me.” Supergirl (because she’s so, infuriatingly _Supergirl_ right now) takes a deliberate step forward.

Cat crosses her arms over her chest. “What use would you have been to those people if you had collapsed while holding a bus? I thought I taught you better than –”

“Better?” Kara interrupts. There’s a spark of temper there, Cat acknowledges. It’s… interesting. Cat wills her own temper into submission. She will not show too much, feel too much.

“Better than taking giant leaps, when you need small steps. You can barely walk and yet you’re trying to fly.”

“I had to help.” Kara’s voice has gone softer – an apology wrapped up in explanation.

“The people you help depend on you. They shouldn’t see you fall, Kara. It’s…” Cat shrugs, uncertain for the first time, about how much she can allow herself to say, unsure as to whether there’s a choice anymore. “Well, it’s disillusioning.”

“I never meant for you to worry.”

She clucks her tongue, more annoyed with herself than anything else. “Don’t deflect.”

Kara seems to shrink, and for a moment that suit looks almost too big, that ‘S’ too heavy. “I didn’t think -”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I really did feel fine. I wouldn’t have risked it if I didn’t.”

“Yes, you would have. Because that’s who you are. You can’t help yourself. That’s why Supergirl is...who she is. And that shouldn’t change. But you have you realise that you’ve got a responsibility to look after yourself if you want to be any use to anyone else.”

“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t just say it to appease Cat. There’s depth to the apology, an understanding of what it means, that unravels something in Cat’s chest, something that’s been clenched tight since she turned on the news. 

She’s exhausted herself by talking in circles, talking around whatever it is that she really wants to say.

“I am going to deduct a cut from your salary for every time you apologise.”

“That might make paying my rent a bit difficult.”

Kara smiles for the first time since walking through those balcony doors. She’s framed by the grey sky that rumbles behind her, and still she manages to radiate light.

“Well,” Cat walks past her, effectively ending the conversation. “Have you eaten?”

Kara follows towards the kitchen, seemingly unaware of the surreal image she presents – Supergirl, walking around in Cat Grant’s kitchen. 

“I didn’t really get a chance.”

“I suppose I could throw something together.” Cat likes cooking – not often, and certainly not if it’s expected – but she enjoys the ritual of going through a recipe, putting ingredients together to create something perfect. Because, _of course_ she’s good at it. Although, it’s rarely appreciated by Carter, who prefers buttered noodles to a flawless beef goulash.

She opens the fridge to assess its contents, when she feels Kara’s hand on her shoulder, her grasp firm and warm. For all the contact they’ve had over the past few days, this is the first time that Kara has touched her deliberately, not under the guise of steering her away from undesirable company, or in the confusion of fever.

Cat inhales more sharply that she intends, as Kara reaches past her to close the refrigerator door with a definitive thud.

And she’s close now, close enough for Cat to catch the vague scent of burnt rubber in her hair. She wrinkles her nose.

“Thank you, Cat.” Kara’s voice is low, her eyes intense and sincere.

“I was only going to scramble some eggs, Kara. Don’t get too excited.”

“No, I mean thank you. For last night. For worrying. For keeping my secret.”

“Your _thank yous_ are almost as prolific as your apologies.” Cat tries to keep her voice light, to shrug it off, but Kara doesn’t allow it.

“I mean it.”

“Mmm.” Cat’s eyes flicker to the long line of Kara’s throat, to how it bobs as she swallows back whatever she’s about to say.

That thumping again – loud and undeniable. Cat wants to attribute it to the suit, to the way Kara looks in the suit, the squaring of her shoulders, the tilt of her jaw, the unquestionable strength. Except, it isn’t just the suit, it’s this confidence that Kara exudes in the face of Cat’s doubt. It’s a new dynamic for them, Kara pushing and Cat pulling. She’s tempted to take a few more steps back just to see how far Kara will follow.

So Cat opens the refrigerator door again, cutting Kara off on the other side, blocking off that face with that mouth and those ridiculously expressive eyes. “Scrambled eggs it is, then.”

______

Cat watches Kara, still in her suit, devour two helpings of eggs, four slices of toast, and a glass of milk. This inhaling of food is interspersed with “Oh my god, this is so good,” and “best eggs ever,” and a few more mumbled compliments. Cat doesn’t eat. She sips on her coffee – her fourth cup since waking – and deliberates.

She knows that Kara’s attracted to her. It would take an idiot to deduce otherwise. Most of National City is attracted to her, so she’s never been particularly thrown by this. But since the emergence of Cat’s own…feelings, she’s begun to look for more. She had begun to suspect, and maybe even hope, that Kara’s attraction might go beyond heart-eyes and hero-worship, but she’s seen the way Kara looks at James Olsen, the way she’s even looked at Lucy Lane, or the IT imp. Kara is a romantic, constantly in love with a person, an idea, a possibility – and so Cat has never put much stock into those puppy-eyed, lingering looks, at least not until the night before.

She’s young, she’s idealistic and she believes, Cat suspects, that this thing, this breathing and expanding thing, that neither want to acknowledge, might be something _real_. And Cat knows that it’s all fine and dandy to harbour feelings for her 25-year old assistant-who-is-also-a-superhero, when she’s furtive about it. When those feelings are hers to take out and examine behind the safety of her desk, or late at night in the privacy of her home. It’s less dandy when said assistant is _in_ her home, spewing out romanticisms and looking…the way she looks. It’s harder to deny and compartmentalise, it’s harder to remember why giving in to that irritating flutter would be the worst idea since 2001, when her stylist professed that short-bangs were a great look for her face.

Kara finishes eating in record time and rewards Cat with a wide grin. “I’d say thank you, but I’m scared you’ll dock my pay.”

“Funny.” Cat takes Kara’s plate from her.

“Here, let me.” Kara attempts to get off the counter stool to reach for the plate, but Cat backs away.

“You’re not my assistant, here, Kara.”

“I know,” Kara replies in a way that suggests she doesn’t know at all, but she sits back down, seemingly content.

“I spoke to Alex,” she says, as Cat drops the plate into the dishwasher. “I, uh, used the phone in your office. Mine got wrecked when I fell.”

Cat turns. “You carry your phone around when you fly?”

“Sometimes.”

Her gaze wanders across Kara’s upper body. “Where on earth do you keep it?”

“I- I have…it’s…there’s a pocket, and the…Bluetooth,” she waves it off. “So, the area around my apartment will be cleared by this evening. It’ll be safe for me to go back.”

Cat’s smile is tight. “Excellent.”

“I was sort of hoping I could just hang out here, until then. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to…I mean; you’ve already done so much…”

“Kara.” Cat walks around the island table, until she’s right in front of Kara. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Okay.” She smiles then. It’s that warm, closed smile that makes Cat feel as though she’s done something extraordinary.

And then, before Cat can move away, Kara speaks. “If I’m, if I’m not your assistant here,” she looks down and fidgets with her hands. “What am I?”

Cat considers giving her some glib answer, something to get both of them off the hook, to dissolve this sea of unspoken truths that churns between them. But she can’t think of a single silly, shallow retort, and so she replies honestly.

“You’re someone that I trust.”

Kara looks up sharply. She’d be terrible at poker, Cat thinks, as she watches the myriad of emotions flicker across Kara’s face like slides in an old view-master.

“I trust you, too,” Kara practically whispers, as though it were a confession.

It’s ridiculous how much it means. Cat’s embarrassed by the blossoming warmth evoked by Kara’s admission. Instead of basking in this warmth, she decides to capitalise on this trust. An exclusive with Supergirl, right in her kitchen. At least, this is what she tells herself as she reaches up and gently brushes her finger against the fading scrape on Kara’s chin. 

“Does it hurt?”

Kara sucks in a breath at Cat’s touch, and shakes her head slowly.

Cat lets her hand drop, but doesn’t move away. “You don’t feel pain?”

“Not under normal circumstances.”

Cat leans forward a little, and the tops of her thighs push against Kara’s knees. If Kara were to part them, Cat would fall right between. She doesn’t, of course.

“What about other sensations?” She keeps her voice level, asking questions with all the integrity of a seasoned journalist.

“Like what?”

Cat shrugs a shoulder. “Cold?”

“To a point.”

“Heat?”

“A little. Not enough to cause discomfort, just enough to,” Kara clears her throat when her voice rises in pitch “…to know it’s there.”

“Hmm.” Cat rests one hand on the table top and the other on the seat of Kara’s chair, effectively blocking her in. “Are you ticklish?”

Another head shake.

“And touch?”

Kara swallows. “Touch?”

“Do you feel pressure? Texture?”  

“It depends.”

“On?”

“On the, the um… stimulus.”

This is a spectacularly dangerous game. Cat should stop. She should quit while she’s ahead. She should leave it be, go to the office as intended, abandon Kara for the afternoon. Distance, she thinks, arching forward slightly. Distance is good.

“So, a kiss for instance?”

“I’d, um,” Kara exhales and her breath is warm against Cat’s neck. “I’d feel a kiss.”

“What about –”

It’s Kara who tilts her chin up and presses her mouth, ever so gently against Cat’s. It’s Kara who parts her lips to capture Cat’s surprised gasp. It’s Kara who spreads her knees and encourages Cat to come closer.

Cat allows it. She wants it.

The kiss is easy, as if they’ve been doing it for years. Kara knows how to slant her head, how to run her tongue along the seam of Cat’s lower lip. She knows when to bury her fingers in Cat’s hair and when to deepen the kiss. Cat’s hitched moan catches them both off-guard, and Kara pulls her nearer. It feels alarmingly, undeniably _right_.

And so, it’s with regret that Cat pulls back, just a fraction, to allow her lungs the air that Kara doesn’t seem to require.

Kara doesn’t speak, doesn’t apologise, or blush. There’s no coy denial or apology that can undo the spark. Later, when Cat thinks back on it, she’ll feel almost smug that their first kiss was so perfect. Now, all she feels is the crashing inevitability of this thing between herself and Kara.  

“Oh,” Cat finally murmurs, bringing her fingers up against her lips, as if to make sure they’re still there.

Kara watches her carefully. They’re still a breath apart. “Wow.”

“There are,” Cat’s gaze falls to Kara’s mouth. “… a hundred reasons why this is not a good idea.”

“A hundred and one.”

Cat raises her hand, and ever so slowly, traces the ‘S’ on Kara’s chest, which rises and falls with each breath. “There’ll be consequences.”

“I know.” Kara takes Cat’s hand in hers, holding it still, against her rapidly beating heart.

“Rules.” Cat watches the way Kara’s eyelashes flutter as she looks down at their joined hands.

“Strict ones,” Kara agrees softly. She looks up again, and her eyes meet Cat’s.

“Then again,” Cat runs her thumb over Kara’s kiss-swollen lower lip. “What’s the point of being the boss if I can’t change them?”

This time, the kiss is initiated by Cat. It’s not soft, or tentative. It’s months of everything unsaid, every longing look, every stray touch. It’s nights of berating herself for wanting something so out of reach.

Kissing Kara feels like touching the stars.  

Kara, for all her indifference to oxygen, is breathing raggedly against Cat, hands in Cat’s hair, on her cheeks, trembling fingers cupping her jaw. She sighs Cat’s name with soft reverence, and smiles into the kiss.

“Stop smiling,” Cat mumbles, as she glides her palms up Kara’s arms and settles them on her shoulders.  

“Can’t help it,” Kara places a soft, chaste kiss at the corner of Cat’s mouth before bowing back a little, just enough for Cat to see her flushed cheeks and dark, dilated pupils. “What –” Kara sounds awe-struck, caught somewhere between apprehension and elation. “What does this mean?”

Cat closes her eyes for a second, tries to drown out the deafening thrum of her heart. Her hands are still on Kara’s shoulders, and beneath her fingers, she can feel the taut ripple of muscle, solid and real. When she opens her eyes, Kara’s expression seems to suggest that she’s chosen apprehension over elation, and she looks at Cat questioningly.  

“It means,” Cat squeezes Kara’s shoulders a little, for comfort, or possibly just to assure herself that Kara’s really there, that she hasn’t dematerialised, or flown back out of that window, that she did, in fact get pulled out of that water. “It means we should probably discuss what happens at work on Monday.”

“Okay.” Kara still sounds tentative. When that little line appears between her brows and Cat resists the urge to smooth it away.

“That’s not to say that we have to do it now.” She gives in and reaches up to swipe her thumb along the arch of Kara’s forehead. “We have time.” Cat indulges herself, pushes Kara’s hair back behind her ear and leans up into her. “If you’re staying the night.” She means it to sound provocative, but even to her, it sounds more like a question, a product of her own uncertainty.  

She can feel the hum of energy radiating from Kara, like a radio dial, turned up to its highest frequency. Kara’s nod is so quick, so unbelievably _sure_ , that Cat almost smiles. Trust Kara to be bold, here, now, at the one time that Cat falters in conviction.

Cat can still list a hundred reasons why this is a terrible idea. She can still see the preposterous Daily Planet headlines - most likely penned by Lois Lane - in their future. She’s still half-convinced she’s lost her mind, sometime between the last night and this moment.

But it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Not when Kara is _here_ , doing her job, fixing everything that Cat has broken.

“So…” Kara’s hands slide down and settle on Cat’s waist, her touch light and unassuming. “Does this mean I can kiss you again?”

This time, Cat does smile. “I think that would be wise.”


End file.
